Mar.
My Lord ^note Aumerle, is Harry Hereford ^note arm'd?

Aum.
Yea, at all points; and longs to enter in.

Mar.
The Duke of Norfolk, sprightfully ^note and bold,
Stays but the summons of the appellant's ^note trumpet.

Aum.
Why, then, the champions are prepared and stay
For nothing but his majesty's approach. The trumpets ^note sound, and the King enters with his nobles, Gaunt, Bushy, Bagot, Green, and others. When they are set, enter Mowbray in arms, defendant, with a Herald.

K. Rich.
Marshal, demand of yonder champion
The cause of his arrival here in arms:
Ask him his name and orderly proceed
To swear him in the justice of his cause.

Mar.
In God's name and the king's, say who thou art
And why thou comest thus knightly clad in arms,
Against what ^note man thou comest, and what thy quarrel:
Speak truly, on thy knighthood and thy oath ^note;
As so ^note defend thee ^note heaven and thy valour!

Mow.
My name is Thomas ^note Mowbray, Duke of ^note Norfolk;
Who hither come ^note engaged by my oath—
Which God defend ^note a knight should violate!—

Both to defend my loyalty and truth
To God, my king and my ^note succeeding issue,
Against ^note the Duke of Hereford that appeals me;
And, by the grace of God and this mine arm,
To prove him, in defending of myself,
A traitor to my God, my king, and me: ^note
And as I truly fight, defend me heaven! The trumpets ^note sound. Enter Bolingbroke, Appellant, in armour, with a Herald.

K. Rich.
Marshal, ask ^note yonder knight in arms,
Both who he is and why he cometh hither
Thus plated ^note in habiliments of war,
And formally ^note, according to our law,
Depose him in the justice of his cause.

Mar.
What is thy name? and wherefore comest thou hither,
Before King Richard in his royal lists?
Against whom comest ^note thou? and what's ^note thy quarrel?
Speak like a true knight, so defend thee heaven!

Boling.
Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby ^note
Am I; who ready here ^note do stand in arms,
To prove, by God's ^note grace and my body's valour,
In lists, on Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk ^note,
That he is ^note a traitor, foul and dangerous,
To God of heaven, King Richard and to me;
And as I truly fight, defend me heaven!

Mar.
On pain of death, no person be so bold
Or daring-hardy ^note as to touch the lists,

Except the marshal and such officers
Appointed to direct these fair designs.

Boling.
Lord marshal, let me kiss my sovereign's hand,
And bow my knee before his majesty:
For Mowbray and myself are like two men
That vow a long and weary pilgrimage;
Then let us take a ceremonious leave
And loving farewell of our several friends.

Mar.
The appellant ^note in all duty greets your highness,
And craves to kiss your hand and take his leave.

K. Rich.
We will descend and fold him in our arms.
Cousin of Hereford, as thy cause is right ^note,
So be thy fortune in this royal fight!
Farewell, my blood; which if to-day thou shed,
Lament we may, but not revenge thee dead ^note.

Boling.
O, let no noble eye profane a tear
For me, if I be gored ^note with Mowbray's spear:
As confident as is the falcon's flight
Against a bird, do I with Mowbray fight.
My loving lord, I take my leave of you;
Of you, my noble cousin, Lord Aumerle;
Not sick, although I have to do with death,
But lusty, young ^note, and cheerly drawing breath.
Lo, as at English feasts, so I regreet
The daintiest last, to make the end most ^note sweet ^note:
O thou, the earthly ^note author of my blood,
Whose youthful spirit, in me regenerate,
Doth with a twofold vigour ^note lift me up
To reach at victory ^note above my head,
Add proof unto mine armour with thy prayers;
And with thy blessings steel my lance's point,
That it may enter Mowbray's waxen ^note coat,

And furbish ^note new the name of John a Gaunt ^note,
Even in the lusty haviour ^note of his son.

Gaunt.
God ^note in thy good cause make thee prosperous!
Be swift like lightning in the execution;
And let thy blows, doubly redoubled ^note,
Fall like amazing thunder on the casque
Of thy adverse ^note pernicious enemy:
Rouse up thy youthful blood, be valiant ^note and live ^note.

Boling.
Mine innocency ^note and Saint George to thrive!

Mow.
However God ^note or fortune cast my lot,
There lives ^note or dies, true to King ^note Richard's throne,
A loyal, just and upright gentleman:
Never did captive ^note with a freer heart
Cast off his chains of bondage and embrace
His golden uncontroll'd enfranchisement,
More than my dancing soul doth ^note celebrate
This feast of battle with mine adversary.
Most mighty liege, and my companion peers,
Take from my mouth ^note the wish of happy years:
As gentle and as jocund as to jest ^note
Go I to fight: truth hath a quiet breast.

K. Rich.
Farewell, my lord: securely I espy
Virtue with valour couched in thine eye.
Order the trial, marshal, and begin.

Mar.
Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby,
Receive thy lance; and God ^note defend the right ^note!

Boling.
Strong as a tower in hope, I cry amen.

^note

Mar.
Go bear this lance to Thomas, Duke ^note of Norfolk.

First Her. ^note
Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby,
Stands here for God, his sovereign and himself,
On pain to be found false and recreant,
To prove the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray,
A traitor to his God ^note, his king and him;
And dares him to set forward ^note to the fight.

Sec. Her. ^note
Here standeth Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk,
On pain to be found false and recreant,
Both to defend ^note himself and to approve
Henry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,
To God, his sovereign and to him disloyal;
Courageously and with a free desire
Attending but the signal to begin.

Mar.
Sound, trumpets; and set forward ^note, combatants ^note. [A charge sounded. ^note
Stay ^note, the king hath thrown his warder down.

K. Rich.
Let them lay by their helmets and their spears,
And both return back to their chairs again:
Withdraw with us: and let the trumpets sound
While we return these dukes what we decree. [A long flourish. ^note
Draw near, ^note
And list what with our council we have done ^note.
For that our kingdom's earth should not be soil'd

With that dear blood which it hath ^note fostered ^note;
And for our eyes do hate the dire aspect
Of civil ^note wounds plough'd up with neighbours' ^note sword ^note;
And for we think the eagle-winged pride
Of sky-aspiring and ambitious thoughts,
With rival-hating envy, set on you ^note
To wake our peace ^note, which in our country's cradle
Draws ^note the sweet infant breath of gentle sleep ^note;
Which so ^note roused up with boisterous untuned drums ^note,
With ^note harsh-resounding trumpets' dreadful bray,
And grating shock of wrathful iron ^note arms,
Might from our quiet confines fright fair peace ^{note note},
And make us wade even in our kindred's ^note blood ^note;
Therefore, we banish you our territories:
You, cousin Hereford, upon ^note pain of life ^note,
Till twice five summers have enrich'd our fields ^note
Shall not ^note regreet our fair dominions,
But tread the stranger paths of banishment.

Boling.
Your will be done: this must my comfort be,
That sun that warms you here shall shine on me;
And those his golden beams to ^note you here lent
Shall point on me and gild my banishment.

K. Rich.
Norfolk, for thee remains a heavier doom ^note,

Which I with some unwillingness pronounce:
The sly slow ^note hours shall not determinate
The dateless limit of thy dear ^note exile;
The hopeless word of ‘never to return’
Breathe I against thee, upon pain of life ^note.

Mow.
A heavy sentence, my most sovereign liege,
And all unlook'd for from your highness' mouth:
A dearer merit, not ^note so deep a maim
As to be cast forth in the common air,
Have I deserved at your highness' hands.
The language I have learn'd ^note these forty years,
My native English, now I must forego:
And now my tongue's use is to me no more
Than an unstringed viol or a harp;
Or like a cunning instrument cased up,
Or, being open, put into his hands
That knows no touch to tune the harmony:
Within my mouth you have engaol'd ^note my tongue,
Doubly portcullis'd ^note with my teeth and lips;
And dull unfeeling barren ignorance
Is made my gaoler ^note to attend on me ^note.
I am too old to fawn upon a nurse,
Too far in years to be a pupil now:
What is thy sentence then ^note but speechless death,
Which robs my tongue from breathing native breath?

K. Rich.
It boots thee not to be compassionate ^note:
After our sentence plaining comes too ^note late.

Mow.
Then thus I turn me from my country's light,

To dwell in solemn ^note shades of endless night.

K. Rich.
Return again, and take an oath with thee ^note.
Lay on our royal sword your banish'd hands;
Swear by the duty that you owe ^note to God ^note—
Our part therein we banish with yourselves—
To keep the oath that we administer:
You never ^note shall, so help you truth and God ^note!
Embrace each other's love in banishment;
Nor never ^note look upon each other's face;
Nor never ^note write, regreet ^note, nor ^note reconcile
This louring ^note tempest of your home-bred hate;
Nor never ^note by advised purpose meet
To plot, contrive, or complot ^note any ill
'Gainst us, our state, our subjects, or our land.

Boling.
I swear ^note. ^note

Mow.
And I, to keep all this.

Boling.
Norfolk, so far ^note as to mine enemy:— ^note
By this time, had the king permitted us,
One of our souls had wander'd in the air,
Banish'd this frail sepulchre of our flesh,
As now our flesh is banish'd from this land:
Confess thy treasons ere thou fly the ^note realm;
Since thou hast far to go, bear not along
The clogging burthen of a guilty soul.

Mow.
No, Bolingbroke: if ever I were traitor,
My name be blotted from the book of life,

And I from heaven banish'd as from hence!
But what thou art, God ^note, thou, and I do know;
And all too soon, I fear, the king shall rue.
Farewell, my liege. Now no way can I stray;
Save back to England, ^note all the world's my way. [Exit. ^{note note}

K. Rich.
Uncle, even in the glasses of thine eyes
I see thy grieved heart: thy sad aspect
Hath from the number of his banish'd years
Pluck'd four away. [To Boling. ^note] Six frozen winters spent,
Return with welcome home from banishment.

Boling.
How long a time lies in one little word!
Four lagging winters and four wanton springs
End in a word ^note: such is the breath ^note of kings.

Gaunt.
I thank ^note my liege, that in regard of me
He shortens four years of my son's exile:
But little vantage shall I reap thereby;
For, ere the six ^note years that he hath to spend
Can change their moons ^note and bring their times about,
My oil-dried lamp and time-bewasted light
Shall be extinct ^note with age and endless night ^note;
My inch ^note of taper will be burnt and done,
And blindfold death not let me see my son.

K. Rich.
Why, uncle, thou hast many years to live.

Gaunt.
But not a minute, king, that thou canst give:
Shorten my days thou canst with sullen ^note sorrow,
And pluck nights from me, but not lend a morrow;
Thou canst help time to furrow me with age,
But stop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage;
Thy word is current with him for my death,
But dead, thy kingdom cannot buy my breath.

K. Rich.
Thy son is banish'd upon ^note good advice ^note,
Whereto thy tongue a party-verdict ^note gave:
Why at our justice seem'st thou then to lour ^note?

Gaunt.
Things sweet to taste prove in digestion sour ^note.
You urged ^note me as a judge; but I had rather
You would have bid me argue like a father.
O, had it ^note been a stranger, not my child,
To smooth his fault I should ^note have been more mild:
A partial slander sought ^note I to avoid,
And in the sentence my own life destroy'd ^note.
Alas, I look'd when some of you should say,
I was too strict to make mine own away;
But you gave leave to my unwilling tongue
Against my will to do myself this wrong.

K. Rich.
Cousin, farewell; and, uncle, bid him so:
Six years we banish him, and he shall go. [Flourish. Exeunt ^note King Richard and train. ^note

Aum.
Cousin, farewell: what presence must not know,
From where you do remain let paper show.

Mar.
My lord, no leave take I; for I will ride,
As far as land will let me, by your side.

Gaunt.
O, to what purpose dost thou hoard thy words,
That thou return'st ^note no greeting to thy friends?

Boling.
I have too few to take my leave of you,
When the tongue's office should be prodigal
To breathe the abundant dolour of the heart.

Gaunt.
Thy grief is but thy absence for a time.

Boling.
Joy absent, grief is present for that time.

Gaunt.
What is six winters? they are quickly gone.

Boling.
To men in joy; but grief makes one hour ten ^note.

Gaunt.
Call it a travel that thou takest for pleasure.

Boling.
My heart will sigh when I miscall it so,
Which finds it an inforced pilgrimage.

Gaunt.
The sullen passage of thy weary steps
Esteem as foil ^note wherein thou art to set
The precious jewel of thy home return.

Boling.
Nay, rather, every tedious stride I make
Will but remember me what a deal ^note of world ^note
I wander from the jewels that I love.
Must I not serve a long apprenticehood
To foreign passages, and in the end,
Having my freedom, boast of nothing else
But that I was a journeyman to grief? ^note

Gaunt.
All places that the eye of heaven visits
Are to a wise man ^note ports and happy havens.
Teach thy necessity to reason thus;
There is no virtue like necessity.
Think not ^note the king did banish thee, ^note
But thou the king. Woe ^note doth the heavier sit,
Where it perceives it is but faintly borne ^note.
Go, say I sent thee forth to purchase honour
And not the king exiled thee; or suppose
Devouring pestilence hangs in our air
And thou art flying to a fresher clime:
Look, what thy soul holds dear, imagine it
To lie that way thou go'st, not whence thou comest:
Suppose the singing birds musicians,

The grass whereon thou tread'st the presence strew'd ^note,
The flowers fair ladies, and thy steps no more
Than a delightful measure or a dance;
For gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite
The man that mocks at it and sets it light ^{note note}.

Boling.
O, who can hold a fire ^note in his hand
By thinking on the frosty Caucasus?
Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite
By bare imagination of a feast?
Or wallow naked in December ^note snow
By thinking on fantastic summer's heat?
O, no! the apprehension of the good
Gives ^note but the greater feeling to the worse:
Fell sorrow's tooth doth never ^note rankle more
Than ^note when he ^note bites, but lanceth ^note not the sore.

Gaunt.
Come, come, my son, I'll bring thee on thy way:
Had I thy youth and cause, I would not stay.

Boling.
Then, England's ground, farewell; sweet soil, adieu;
My mother, and my nurse, that ^note bears me yet!
Where'er I wander, boast of this I can,
Though banish'd, yet a trueborn Englishman. [Exeunt. ^note

^note

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